


Bright Are The Stars That Shine

by blanchtt



Series: Crooked But Upright [1]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Canon Timeline, F/F, Gen, Minor Delphine Cormier/Cosima Niehaus, Minor Shay Davydov/Cosima Niehaus, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-21 23:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: You woke up this morning, she tells herself. Remember? Had breakfast. Went to work. Picked up lo mein on the way home. It is now four fourteen in the afternoon. This is most likely not a dream.





	Bright Are The Stars That Shine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Semiannually](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Semiannually/gifts).



> For Doro, for the lovely Shaysima gifs she makes.

 

 

 

The number on her screen comes through as _Unknown Caller_ , and Shay purses her lips, thinks, and finally swipes it open, picks up and holds the phone up to her ear. Usually she already has her client’s numbers. It’s probably only a robo-call.

 

And so she nearly drops her phone in her haste to put it down on the table as the other person speaks, and draws her hand away as if it could bite, fist curled loose against her chest.

 

It’s almost Cosima’s voice – if Cosima were British.

 

Shay closes her eyes, calms her breathing, and thinks.

 

 _You woke up this morning_ , she tells herself. _Remember?_ _Had breakfast. Went to work. Picked up lo mein on the way home. It is now four fourteen in the afternoon. This is most likely not a dream._

 

She picks up the phone once more, careful to keep her fingers away from any end-call buttons, and listens.

 

 

-

 

 

She meets Sarah Manning on a random street corner. Or, rather, Sarah Manning picks her up on one.

 

She’s got the coordinates Sarah gave her drawn up on her phone, and stands on the sidewalk looking for… Well. She doesn’t know. She supposes Sarah must be Cosima’s long-lost sister, or something like that.

 

Luckily, she doesn’t have to stand around looking lost for too long, because what she gets is an apparently paranoid Brit bumping into her, muttering, “Follow me,” and finds herself falling into step with a woman who must be Sarah.

 

She’s long ago let herself heal from her experience – every part of it. There is no animosity there, but there _is_ worry. For Cosima, still sick, of course. But also for herself.

 

“How did you get my number?” she asks before Sarah can start speaking. And Sarah looks at her sideways, judgement flicking quick in her eyes, the set of her features resolute, and Shay tastes wine and Cosima and weed at that familiar look, the one that says _I can’t tell you_.

 

“Can’t say,” Sarah replies gruffly.

 

It’s disappointing, but not surprising. She’d steeled herself for that. Shay slows down, unable to follow Sarah’s pace in her heels – which seems as if it could easily border on frenzied, if only Sarah weren’t trying to appear unperturbed – and watches in surprise as Sarah follows her lead. She must really need her.

 

“And you expect me to trust you?” Shay asks.

 

At that, Sarah snorts, apparently finding her reply humorous. “I don’t really know what went down between you and Cos,” she says with a shrug. “But if you can help, we really need it.” And her voice grows more subdued here, her gaze wounded and angry all at once. “Cosima. Myself,” Sarah says, movements now jerky. “My daughter. The rest of us.” She stops quite suddenly, and Shay nearly bumps into her as Sarah rounds on her, looking ready to storm away. “But if not, then sorry for bothering you.”

 

_The rest of us?_

 

Shay exhales slowly, holds out a hand to stop Sarah, though Sarah stops short of running into her again. “What exactly is going on?” There has to be a reason Sarah had immediately shot down all her suggestions for a location at which to meet and insisted on walking down all the back alleys of downtown Toronto as they talk. Shay steps around a loose cobblestone, envies Sarah briefly for her boots as she asks, “Is this what Delphine was trying to tell me about?”

 

“Probably?” It’s said with another shrug as Sarah looks over her shoulder, the motion almost a tic, and then back at her. “Like I said, Cos didn’t tell me everything.” Shay watches Sarah, and there is no Cosima in her as she looks over her shoulders twice before edging closer to her. “But I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate.”

 

She seems ready to bolt, the two of them standing too long in one place, and it requires a decision _now_.

 

“Maybe,” Shay sighs. It’s conditional, but it’s really all she can offer right now.

 

 

-

 

 

It’s a good thing Sarah’s mother offered her the couch, because her head is still swimming, overloaded with details, and now she understands Sarah’s paranoia. A walk home in the dark is unappealing and so is spending a night alone in her own apartment, no matter how well she’s learned to secure it.

 

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do,” Shay admits, taking a sip of her now-cold tea. She’d been offered a cup at the start of the story, and now it’s gone cold. It’s still soothing, though.

 

“We need more numbers,” Mrs. S explains plainly, face pinched with worry. “ _Trusted_ numbers, who know how to use a gun.” Shay smiles thinly, because that she does know how to do, and nods, watches Sarah pace as Mrs. S continues. “We need to get Cosima and Kira out, and it seems like you might have the experience to help us with that.”

 

They’re either ignorant – the military keeps mum well – or stretched thin to ask on that criteria alone, and it hurts her heart to think of Cosima and Sarah’s daughter left with such a slim chance.

 

“Alright,” Shay agrees, and Sarah looks at her, bites her lip, and if there’s one trait she can see Sarah and Cosima share it’s a terrible ability at masking their emotions. Sarah’s clearly relieved even if she can't bring herself to say it.

 

“We jus’ wanna get in and get out, nice and clean,” Sarah says, and Shay smiles encouragingly, but knows enough to get a good night’s sleep before they head out. It’s _never_ nice and clean, and it’s going to be rough going from now on come morning.

 

 

-

 

 

Sarah spits the name like a curse – _bloody Rachel!_ – before it all goes to hell. Given the angry shouts and the rattle of gunfire, the lights shattering above them and throwing them into nothing but the emergency lights of the hallway, and Sarah slamming the heavy door shut behind them all confirms that their plan is officially fucked up beyond all recognition.

 

“Go that way. Get Cosima,” Sarah says, pointing down the hall to their left with her pistol, and Shay nods, doesn’t have time to worry as they separate and Sarah darts down another corridor, no doubt after her daughter.

 

They're both running on pure will and adrenaline, two days gone since they last slept, gun never leaving her hand. Shay rounds a corner, tries to keep a map of the building in her head that Cosima had described to Sarah over Skype, and heads down the hall, recognizes the door and kicks it open. It takes several stomps with her heel, but finally she feels wood splinter under her boot, one final kick breaking a weak spot near the lock, and stumbles into the room, finds herself face to face with _her_.

 

She’s not sure who currently looks the most surprised, herself or Delphine. But Cosima, sitting on a cot-like bed, is startlingly calm at the sight of her though tear-tracks stain her cheeks, and she smiles weakly, immediately reaches under the bed and grabs a bag, gets up, and begins shoving things it in haphazardly.

 

Delphine approaches her, looking very much worse for wear, her rapid movements belying her calm tone.

 

“Please, there’s not much time,” she says. She shoves another bag at Shay, and Shay is loathe to let go of her own bag on her shoulders since it has food and water and ammunition, and so takes it as well with her free hand, slings it over one shoulder messily. Whatever it is, it must weigh thirty pounds, and Shay grits her teeth at the added weight. “Get her out.”

 

Always the plan, of course. But face to face with a woman who looks exhausted beyond recognition, she makes a decision, reaches around to the back of her waist, untucks the pistol from where she’d only had a moment to shove it between her belt and shirt.

 

“You’re coming, too,” Shay says, and is surprised at the strength in her own voice as she thrusts the weapon into Delphine’s hands. “No hard feelings,” she jokes stiffly, looking up at the other woman, because it’s hard to let _that_ part go completely. But she’s not going to leave her to the wolves. Not after everything she’s done.

 

Shay jerks her head towards the door, watches Cosima catch up to them, and motions Delphine to stay on Cosima’s left.

 

“It has about four bullets left,” she warns, but luckily the way Delphine holds the pistol makes her smile just a little, certain that she’s going to be covered by a woman who knows what she’s doing. “So make every shot count.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
